


The Wizard, the Cat and the Hobbit in the Wardrobe

by darth_stitch



Series: Kili's Plot Bunny Haven [5]
Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, And beanie's, And the Biting Plot Bunnies, And the Muses, Animal Transformation, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff, Frying Pan of Inspiration, Humor, M/M, Ridiculousness, Romance, This is all bead's fault, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Margaret Hale, it started with a wardrobe.  For John Thornton, his office's filing room.  Either way, there's a Hobbit waiting in Bag End for tea, a Dwarf King and his nephews in a bit of a Predicament and a very tetchy Brown Wizard who may have gotten into the pipe weed and liked it far too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Change In Status](https://archiveofourown.org/works/895777) by [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead). 



> **DISCLAIMER:** If they were mine, we wouldn’t be writing so many AU’s about how they all survived and lived happily ever after. *wibbles* We’re just playing in Tolkien’s sandbox; we’ll put the toys back in good order when we’re done.
> 
>  **Note:** Basically, Bead tried to let loose a Plot Bunny in the Blanket Fort and then ended up writing her [Sillyfic of Adorableness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/895777?view_full_work=true). And then [Beaniebaneenie decided to sneak up on me](http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/post/56364103184/beaniebaneenie-awww-what-happened-to-you) so I could get hit with the Frying Pan of Inspiration. 
> 
> And before I could recover, I have a sneaking suspicion that Bead’s Billa Muse and my Bilbo Muse decided to have tea together for purposes of Nefarious Plot Bunny Hatching because it is the ONLY explanation I have as to the presence of one Margaret Hale in the Blanket Fort. Or maybe because John Thornton’s been hanging around here for a while, being a drinking buddy of the Dwarves. I just don’t know with my Muses anymore, I just don’t know….

  
  
This whole business started with a wardrobe.  
  
To be precise, it was a lovely antique wardrobe filled with some of the very latest fashions from Paris.  _Worth_ , Cousin Edith’s letter glowingly declared and Margaret’s mother positively clapped her hands with delight.  While Margaret Hale privately thought that she would have little use for such exquisite creations here in Milton, she was grateful that Aunt Shaw’s gift did bring some delight to her ailing mother.  
  
And it wasn’t as if the wardrobe was just filled with impractical ballgowns.  There were a few very nice day dresses and tea gowns that were suitable for daily use.  In fact, Margaret was currently wearing one of those today, a deep blue dress that Mrs. Hale declared flattered her coloring.  
  
Margaret carefully did not dwell upon the idea that she might get to wear the ballgowns whilst in attendance at any social event in which one Mr. John Thornton might be present.  
  
She _wished…_  
  
As she had told herself many times before – she was the veriest fool.  She shouldn’t be going back to think upon the whole sorry business, over and over again.   She had no right to think about the Master of Marlborough Mills anymore, even if her first instinct, upon seeing him these days, was to offer comfort and kindness and the friendship that she had been fool enough to deny him.  
  
So perhaps she was a bit caught up in her _wishing_ and her _regrets_ whilst she was arranging her things in the wardrobe.  Perhaps it was a bit of childish, silly fancy that made her actually hop inside, like a little girl playing hide and seek.  
  
And then, once inside, she fell into Someplace Else.  
  
The Someplace Else was a forest and Margaret did not have a clue how she got from her wardrobe to said forest and she was, indeed, rather close to sheer panic.  
  
So perhaps she might be forgiven for her little scream at the presence of the Lion.  
  
“Dear one,” the Lion said – a Lion that could _talk_ – apparently, in a low, rumbly, yet kind sort of voice.  “You might want to start walking in that direction.”  He gestured westward with one massive paw.  
  
“I’d just like to get home, if you please, sir,” Margaret answered, trying to recover as much of her wits as possible.  She was in fact quite proud that her voice remained steady, despite being in the company of a _Lion_ of all things.  But then again, he seemed to be a very _kind_ Lion.  In fact, Margaret rather felt like she had actually fallen into a fairy tale.  
  
“Yes, well, believe me when I say that your path lies over there.  You will find what you seek and perhaps a little adventure too,” the Lion told her.  “Go on – you don’t want to be late for tea.”  
  
Heaven only knew how or why but Margaret did start walking in the general direction the Lion had pointed out to her.  She walked and walked and found herself in a pleasant little land with rolling hills, green grass and trees.  And she kept walking until she found herself at the round door of a dear little house, built into a hill.  
  
A dear little house that was apparently inhabited by a most charming fellow who referred to himself as “Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of Bag End."  He extended a very gracious invitation for high tea and Margaret, charmed by Mr. Baggins’ mischievous smile, found herself accepting.  She wasn’t quite sure about this world she had suddenly stumbled into and really, she ought to be frightened out of her wits, but Mr. Baggins seemed to radiate a sense of safety and was so very English in his offer of tea, that she found herself immediately calmed.  
  
And within an hour in his company, they were both chatting happily as if they were the oldest of friends.  Somehow Mr. Baggins managed to pry most of Margaret’s story out of her, in between his own tales of his delightful family and neighbors of Bagginses, Tooks, Brandybucks, Bracegirdles and Proudfeet and the rest of the families in this land which Margaret would learn, was called the Shire.  
  
And aside from the Hobbits, Bilbo spoke of Dwarves and Elves and Wizards and why, this was going to be a delightful adventure!  
  
***  
  
John Thornton sighed in exasperation.  
  
He supposed that he should have already gotten used to the Odd Happenings (Nori would call it _shenanigans_ ) that happened on his frequent visits to Middle-earth.  Which happened by way of the tiny filing room in his office that somehow served as a doorway to this Other World.  Yes, it was ridiculous but he’d long accepted that these events were not the result of his fevered imagination brought about by long hours working at the mill.  
  
The letter opener made of the metal that was too fine to be the silver he had seen in his own world, engraved with the strange runes, was proof of that.  Said letter opener was currently sitting in his desk drawer, on a world where Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves and Absent-Minded Wizards did not exist.  
  
Or to be precise, a world where Certain Dwarves only visited ( _read:_   Fili and Kili) if they wanted to bring John along for an adventure (read:  trouble and _shenanigans_ ).  
  
In fact, that was how it started.  He had been working long hours into the night yet again – much to his mother’s worry.  But then, work and more work was the only balm he could think of to forget warm blue eyes and dark chestnut curls that he longed to tangle his hands in and a voice that had once stopped a raging mob in its tracks.  She had been so very brave, somehow so very strong, despite her deceptively fragile exterior, defending him against the strikers.  John Thornton might have been content to simply admire a pretty face but leave it at no more than that.  
  
But the first thing he had taken note of with Margaret Hale wasn’t her beauty – it was her spirit, when she had roundly upbraided him for his temper and treatment of one of his workers, richly though the man deserved it for his carelessness.  And when she had shown courage and strength, defending him against what would have been a murderous mob – he’d fallen quite completely.  
  
And of course, he had to go and act the fool much later.  In retrospect, he could understand why she would reject him as she had.  Someone very wise had pointed out that one cannot force love into being and while John would have been content with simply having Margaret offer her hand in friendship, wounded pride had made him burn that bridge quite completely when it had been first offered.  
  
He was a bloody idiot.  
  
Thorin Oakenshield had a few more choice words for it in Khuzdul, which he was, amazingly, willing to teach.  John agreed with the assessment completely.  
  
So perhaps meeting Dwarves and being pulled into the world of Middle-earth by way of his filing room was a welcome escape and a way where he could sort out his muddled feelings and ruefully consider and regret his mistakes.  Also, as Dwalin had eloquently put it, “get your head out of your arse, along with the stick upside it – trust us, it will be good for you.”  
  
All right, so maybe these days he was having far too much fun than a proper Victorian gentleman ought to, but John did have the excuse of a broken heart.  
  
But now his friends were more than just in a spot of trouble.  
  
"Please tell me that you lot did not annoy Radagast yet again," John told them all sternly or at least, he could direct his gaze to Fili and Kili, who, currently transformed as golden and black puppies, whimpered pitifully.  
  
Thorin, who somehow managed to still look regal despite his current state as an absolutely adorable black and white kitten with very striking blue eyes, still managed to shoot John a properly Scornful Look.  John unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin.  It was just too funny.  
  
"Bilbo is going to be very cross with all of us and well you know it, Your Majesty," he told the kitten.  
  
There were more aggrieved whines from Fili and Kili.  Thorin simply padded his way to John’s feet and gently butted his head against his ankle.  John couldn’t help it - he reached down to gently scritch the Dwarf-turned-kitten’s fuzzy black head and got a pleased mew for his troubles.  He and the Dwarf King got along surprisingly well, a fact that seemed to make every Dwarf (and one Hobbit) of his acquaintance raise their eyes heavenwards in a silent plea for strength.  He never could understand that and was solemnly told by Bilbo Baggins himself that he never would.  
  
Fili and Kili bounded over to get their own scritches, which John generously gave, playfully batting Kili over to scritch at his belly.  Kili enjoyed that while his brother was trying to emulate a little more of his uncle-turned-kitten’s dignity.  
  
Well, there was no help for it anyway.  Bilbo, of course, would have to sort his beloved King and nephews out.  John had been personally hoping to simply get away from his sister Fanny’s endless nagging about “speculation" and enjoy a relatively stress-free, if odd day, with his friends in Middle earth.  He definitely got his wish this time and so he managed to herd one majestic black kitten and two rambunctious puppies in the general direction of Bag End.  
  
It was time for tea anyway.  
  
********


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we may or may not have made a shameless, shameless Sherlock reference and Stitch is NOT SORRY, not one bit.

  
John Thornton was certainly no Scotland Yard detective though he was, as it happened, a magistrate back in Milton.   He wasn’t, of course, a stranger to the business of investigations.  Thorin, despite his current state as a kitten, was quite insistent on getting John right back to the “scene of the crime” as it were, before he would consent to being led back to Bag End for tea. 

It must be noted by Certain Parties Perhaps Named Fili and Kili and a Few Other Estimable Dwarves of John’s Acquaintance, that Thorin Oakenshield has been notorious for his lack of a sense of direction if found outside his mountain kingdom.  Though, normally, this is not in effect if Thorin is trying to find his way back to his beloved Hobbit.   Nonetheless, Fili and Kili, despite their current puppy forms, were the ones who were able to successfully get John to said “scene of the crime” being as they were fortunate enough to escape _that_ particular Durin curse as far as a “sense of direction” went. 

Fili and Kili are also eternally grateful, though they are not able to say so at this time, that despite Certain Remarkable Resemblances to a Certain King Under the Mountain, John Thornton had an _excellent_ sense of direction. 

John had been in Middle-earth several times enough to recognize the familiar tracks of Rhosgobel rabbits. 

“Yes, so Radagast _did_ turn the three of you into adorable – “ John nimbly leapt away from a clawed paw aimed at his ankles, “all right – all right, Thorin.  I already know about Radagast.  What else are you trying to tell me?”

Thorin pointed with kitten paws at the remains of leaves and ashes on the ground. 

John did not need an encyclopedic knowledge of tobacco ash to get what Thorin was trying to say.  “So you’re telling me Radagast has been smoking Longbottom Leaf?”

“Meow!”

It was, John admitted, excellent _“pipeweed”_ as Bilbo called it, better than the tobacco back in London.   “Gandalf smokes Longbottom Leaf so why should this be – _oh.”_

Puppy Fili and Kili exchanged eloquent looks. 

It has been noted earlier that several Dwarves plus one Hobbit are known to ask various Valar for heavenly strength when in the company of both John Thornton and Thorin Oakenshield.  This was one of the reasons why.

“You’re trying to tell me that the…. _Leaf_ … has an adverse effect on Radagast’s faculties?”  John asked the kitten. 

“Meow!”

“And you three were just unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire?”

Another affirmative meow, plus puppy yips and this time, Thorin wound around John’s ankles, purring in obvious affection. 

Then, John chuckled.  “You’re telling me this so I can bear witness to your husband that this is very much not your fault.”

John did not _yelp_ as he tried to dodge kitten claws yet again.    

*****

Truth be told, Margaret almost didn’t recognize the man who stepped into Bag End, ducking into the door and herding in the most adorable set of fluffballs to ever fluff.  All right - so it was one very regal looking black and white, blue-eyed kitten and a pair of puppies - one golden and one black.  Still, Margaret barely held back a squeal of delight at the picture they made.

And if the sweet, wholly unfamiliar smile on one normally scowling John Thornton made her breath quicken, then that was her business.  She fervently hoped no one noticed.

The kitten immediately leaped for Bilbo Baggins, however, who instinctively opened his arms to receive the little fellow, who was purring quite loudly as he nuzzled at the Hobbit’s throat.  Bilbo was already absently petting the kitten even as he turned a decidedly disgruntled expression in Mr. Thornton’s direction.

"All right - what did you lot do this time?"  Bilbo demanded.

Still smiling that absurdly, heart-stopping smile, Mr. Thornton raised his hands in an obviously placating gesture.  “I haven’t anything to do with this - I just found all three of them this way - though in Thorin’s defense, I doubt that it was because he and the lads annoyed Radagast again.”

There was an affirming “meow" from the kitten and answering yips from the two puppies.   
  
“Based on the evidence I found,” Mr. Thornton continued.  “It looks like the Shire’s famed Longbottom Leaf may have had a strange effect on this particular wizard.”

Bilbo squeaked.  “Oh dear.” 

"Honestly, I think Radagast has rather taken to the idea of be-spelling people into something else," Mr. Thornton went on.  “What with all the commentary about wizards turning people into mushrooms - "

"Oh Mahal help us - " Bilbo groaned.  “Next thing I’ll know, Gandalf will be poofing poor unsuspecting folk left and right, though perhaps I shan’t object if he turned Lobelia and Otho into toadstools."

Mr. Thornton snorted.

"Poisonous ones!"  The hobbit added cheekily.  And as Bilbo had already spent the better part of tea time telling her about his obnoxious relatives, Margaret couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her.

And at that, it was obvious that Mr. Thornton had finally noticed who else was in the room with Bilbo (Bilbo, of course, was not fond of ceremony and Margaret already found it quite easy to be in his company).  That beautiful smile, much to Margaret’s everlasting regret, faded away and Mr. Thornton assumed his customary grave expression.

"Miss Hale."

Bilbo glanced at her then at Mr. Thornton.   The kitten, absurdly mirrored the gesture and the puppies did the same.  “Oh my.  Surely, this isn’t _your_ Margaret?"

The puppies whimpered and the black one flopped down on his belly, paws covering his eyes.  The kitten slanted an oddly considering stare in Margaret’s direction - an expression that was so very reminiscent of one she’d seen on Mr. Thornton - that she found herself already blushing in embarrassment from that alone.

She tried very hard not to think about Bilbo’s immediate assertion that she was _John’s_ \- er, Mr. Thornton’s Margaret.  She also tried very hard not to sneak a glance in Mr. Thornton’s direction, sure that she would die of mortification on the spot.

All right so maybe she risked death anyway.

She peeked.

He was just as mortified.

And Bilbo was already apologizing.  “Well, there I’ve gone and put my foot in it!  Oh dear, oh dear - I am quite sorry - John, do sit down before you bash your head against my ceiling.  Margaret, dear, this is my husband, Thorin Oakenshield."

The kitten meowed and if it was possible for a kitten to meow _gravely_ , then this kitten had managed to do it.  Bilbo had said much about his beloved husband – the Dwarf King Under the Mountain – during their tea, though Margaret, of course, hadn’t been expecting to meet him as an adorable _feline_. 

"And currently, my poor darling has been be-spelled into a cat.  These two are Fili and Kili, our nephews - " And here Bilbo gestured at the puppies.  The black one bounded over to her playfully, already shamelessly begging for a petting, which she gave.  The other one held back for a few moments more, making an attempt at emulating the kitten’s oddly dignified demeanor, snuggled as he was in the arms of the hobbit.  But then he came bounding over for a scratch as well.

"And obviously, they ought to be proper Dwarves," Bilbo continued.  “They should be back to their correct shapes by suppertime - if I remember how things went the last time Radagast cast this spell.  But in the meantime - John, try not to scowl so - it will put me off my tea."

"It was far more pleasant to see you smile," Margaret said suddenly and then stopped, aghast at her boldness.  Evidently, Bilbo’s cheerful frankness was quite catching.

Mr. Thornton slanted a look at her, both shy and hopeful, making him seem very young in that moment and Margaret quietly resigned herself to finally admitting to what her heart had been whispering ever since she’d been silly enough to turn down his offer of marriage.  “If it pleases you," he answered softly.

"Very much so," she whispered back.  And then, she startled at the approving meow from the kitten-meant-to-be-a-Dwarf - _Thorin_ \- Bilbo called him.

The smile once again stole over Mr. Thornton’s - John’s - features and Margaret could not help but smile back.

This was turning out to be quite the adventure indeed!

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** Oh dear sweet Ceiling Cat, I forsee more trouble on the horizon. I mean, DWALIN and the rest of the Ridiculous Company want IN on this and we need some epic facepalming from Bilbo and Margaret with regards to their respective sweeties and FILI AND KILI and….
> 
> Yeah. Hello to you too, Mighty and Crack-Filled Frying Pan of Artistic Inspiration! *facepalm*
> 
> **Note the Second:** Bead did an excellent meta-continuation over at my [Tumblr](http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/post/56456799784/bead-bead-darthstitch-truth-be-told#notes) – please feel free to join us in our Squee Apocalypse! However, over here at AO3, I do plan to do things slightly differently as I’ve had old North and South bunnies finally wanting to be set free and as I’ve said Dwalin and the rest of the Company have Things to Say. If you’ve been following my Tumblr blog and as I’ve hinted in this story, John’s been a frequent visitor to Middle-earth and the Dwarves have been his drinking buddies. *chortles*


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner preparations, cat flirting and John should have remembered that Dwarves and Hobbits have an Evil Sense of Humor...

  
Bilbo would not be a Baggins worthy of the name if he wasn’t a past master at smoothing over awkward moments, as well as the Fine Art of Matchmaking.  Fortunately, Fili and Kili picked up on the mischief afoot, being possessed, of course, of very fine noses for this sort of thing both as Dwarves and in their current state as puppies.  Both of them were shamelessly being playful with John and Margaret and were quite effective at helping to diffuse the tension between the two. 

Really, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that John and Margaret were utterly taken with one another, but there was a lot of wounded feelings and misunderstandings in between and Bilbo, being perfectly aware of having once been in the same position, was all too willing to help nudge things along. 

Soft kitten paws on his cheeks made him pay attention to his currently kitty-fied darling, who was regarding him with an all-too familiar look on his face, despite its feline state.  Bilbo knew _That Look_.  It said plainly, “I know what mischief you’re up to.  I know you’re dragging our nephews into it.  And I hope to Mahal you know what you’re doing.”

Taking advantage of John and Margaret’s distraction with Fili and Kili puppies, Bilbo murmured back, “Trust me.” 

If a kitten could raise a brow in amusement, Bilbo was prepared to swear up and down that _this_ one did.  But then again, this _was_ Thorin after all.   And then Thorin meowed sweetly and rubbed his head underneath Bilbo’s chin.

“As much as I adore seeing you as a kitten, you’re making me miss my Dwarf husband very much.”

A chirrup and another soft paw at Bilbo’s chin. 

“Yes, well, I love you too.” 

All too soon, they had to attend to the business of getting dinner ready.   Now while Bilbo would ordinarily not have guests help with the food preparations, Margaret, bless her heart, was having none of it, especially when she heard that Bilbo was expecting _ten more Dwarves_ to arrive at Bag End for dinner.   And of course, John had long passed being merely a guest to being practically part of their decidedly odd, if loveable family. 

“Ten?!”  Margaret had gasped.  “Oh goodness – “

“Eru and all the Valar help us, you mean,” Bilbo chortled.  “But I’m used to the lot and once our pack of adorable fluffballs are back to normal, we shall have a lucky thirteen.”

Thorin growled.

“Would it help if I amended that to Your Most Adorable Majesty?” Bilbo told the kitten pertly. 

A most displeased huff was the answer even as John and Margaret vainly tried to hide their amusement.  Bilbo, of course, was having none of Thorin’s sulks, because he was well aware it was a shameless bid for more affection and thus a scritch behind Thorin’s ears, which were his weak spot, put a stop to that immediately. 

“Dwalin will be having nightmares if he witnesses this,” John teased Thorin even as the latter pawed at Bilbo’s chin for more scritches. 

There was a distinctly smug purr as a response.  John snorted.  “Oh that was the idea then?”

Fili and Kili whined and this time, _both_ puppies put their paws over their eyes.

Margaret raised a brow.  “I wasn’t aware that you had the ability to speak _cat_ , Mr. Thornton?”  Thanks to Fili and Kili, the tension between the two had eased quite greatly and it was rather adorable watching them sneak shy smiles at each other. 

“It’s not that he has the ability to speak _cat_ ,” Bilbo said with an air of martyrdom.  “It’s that he has an uncanny ability to speak _Thorin._ ” 

John rolled his eyes heavenwards.  “And, of course, it’s not as if _you_ don’t possess that ability yourself, Bilbo.”

“I’m his husband; it comes with the territory.  In your case – “This time, it was Bilbo’s turn to raise his eyes heavenwards.  “Mahal and Yavanna have mercy on us.”

“I still don’t understand that, by the way,” John pointed out. 

“Be comforted, Mr. Thornton, I am mystified myself,” Margaret returned. 

Bilbo laughed again and patted her arm gently.  “Once Thorin here is back to his normal self, you will, Margaret dear.  John will never understand, but believe me, _you_ would, within less than five minutes in my husband’s presence.” 

There was another, distinct huff, from the kitten in Bilbo’s arms and Bilbo let Thorin have one last scritch before he let him back on the floor.  Thorin wound around Bilbo’s ankles for a few minutes before graciously allowing the Hobbit to go about his dinner preparations. 

All three of them managed to settle in Bilbo’s kitchen with their assigned tasks.  Fili and Kili tried to help – well, as much as puppies can help, pushing forward potatoes, tomatoes and onions with noses and puppy paws for chopping. 

 There was much laughter, from Margaret’s part at this, and of course the boys _would_ preen at the attention they were getting.  Thorin, however, took up a post on the counter as Bilbo cooked and it was soon obvious as to _why_ since that earned him the post of Official Taste Tester and Bilbo _was_ generous with giving out free tastes. 

Margaret found herself giggling over the cat and hobbit antics and she could hardly be blamed for sneaking in a scritch over the silky black fur-covered head of the Dwarf-turned-kitten.  Who, upon getting the sritches, was shameless in asking Margaret for more. 

Bilbo pretended to be very put out.  “Thorin Oakenshield, are you actually _flirting_ with Margaret?”

A smug meow was the answer. 

Margaret blushed, giggled again and tried to apologize to Bilbo, who waved it off with a “Don’t mind me – my husband is a great big silly when he’s not being all regal and majestic.” 

There was a growl coming from the general direction of one John Thornton, which everyone tried to ignore, well except for Margaret, who slanted a worried glance in John’s direction. 

“Are you quite all right, Mr. Thornton?” 

“Quite,” was the answer as John shot a glare in a certain Dwarf-kitten’s direction.  Said Dwarf-kitten responded with a twitch of one ear, which was the equivalent of a raised brow and an obvious, “Well? What are _you_ going to do about it?” 

John’s response was to bring the knife pointedly down to skewer a potato in half.  The kitten fell over in a comfortable sprawl and regarded him lazily, with perhaps a hint of what could be termed as cat laughter. 

Bilbo skillfully distracted Margaret from John and Thorin by asking her to set the table for their party of sixteen, even while he called Thorin for another taste test and a secret scritch for a job well done.  Fili and Kili, however, brought John’s attention back to the tasks at hand.  So they continued merrily on, setting up for dinner and it was just as Bilbo set the final dish on the table, that they heard the first knock on their door. 

To his credit, Dwalin did not miss a beat when the door of Bag End opened to reveal Margaret Hale, having been drafted by Bilbo into opening the door for guests.  The burly Dwarf simply bowed and said, “Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service and you’re a right bonny lassie, aren’t you?”

Margaret blushed but murmured polite greetings back and welcomed him inside. 

It must be noted that Margaret was _not_ the only one doing door duty and she was accompanied by John Thornton.  Perhaps Dwalin might not have started things off on such a note, but the sons of Fundin were known to be rather quick on the uptake.  It wasn’t too much of a stretch to look at how protectively John hovered next to their newest visitor to Middle-earth, very reminiscent of the way Certain Dwarf Kings acted around Certain Hobbits and Dwalin had an Evil Streak a mile wide and thus, couldn’t resist. 

John’s glower was worth it, anyway. 

It wasn’t long until the rest of the Company arrived and as Bilbo predicted, Fili and Kili were back to their normal selves just as the last members of the Company – Gloin and Oin – arrived.   They didn’t lose a minute in presenting themselves to Margaret in their Dwarf forms, chanting their typical “At your service!” in unison and of course, charming her at the same time. 

John was _not_ happy. 

But when Thorin emerged from their bedroom still in cat form, though he was now an adult cat and not a kitten and still, to Bilbo’s eyes, ridiculously adorable, things started to get Very Interesting. 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** I know I have already posted a certain scene on my Tumblr but since that’s a response to bead’s excellent post with her Muses, I am going to take a different way to get to that point in my AO3 fic. 
> 
> **Note the Second:** When you’re best friends with a Dwarf and you’re good buddies with a Hobbit and several more Dwarves, best be prepared for Consequences. *cackles*


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a Merry Gathering.

  
One would think, that after the nth chant of "at your service," all the Dwarves that Margaret would be introduced to would blurr into incoherence, much like the guests at Aunt Shaw's soirees.    
  
But of course, Bilbo had forewarned her and Margaret could soon very easily assign the proper name to the correct Dwarf.  It helped, so very very much, that they were each so very charming in their own way.    
  
Dwalin should have been properly intimidating and perhaps had Margaret seen him in other circumstances, it would not have been surprising, as he had all the traits of a professional soldier or perhaps warrior would be a better term.  But there was that accent that sounded distinctively Scottish to her ears, a warm smile and the instant appellation of "bonnie lassie" that made Mr. Thornton scowl darkly and Margaret was won over.    
  
His brother Balin was much the same though there was a definite air of a kindly if mischievous grandfather, reminding her of an elderly version of her father's friend, Mr. Bell.  He positively twinkled at Mr. Thornton and said, "So, _this_ is what the fuss was about, laddie?"    
  
Margaret tried not to blush, she really did.  Her only consolation was that the red on her cheeks matched John.... er.... _Mr. Thornton's_ own blushes even as she privately wondered exactly what it was that Mr. Thornton may have mentioned about her to the Dwarves.    
  
Nori was easy to distinguish due to his unusual hairstyle and the fact that he somehow managed to filch one of her hair combs and presented it back to her with a flourish, something that elicited a growl from Dwalin and Mr. Thornton.  Dori, the eldest amongst the Ri brothers, roundly scolded Nori and was a perfect gentleman to Margaret.  Ori was a darling, who first peeked at her from behind his knitted sleeves and then, suddenly announced, "You're very pretty, Miss Margaret!  John should tell you that more often!"  
  
John.... er... _Mr. Thornton_ tried to hide his mortification behind a hand over his face, as the Dwarves all roared with laughter and then, finally, he stopped hiding, squared his shoulders and smiled ruefully in her direction.      
  
"Forgive me, Miss Hale.  My friends have no concept of the meaning of 'discretion.'"  
  
"Exactly what have you been telling them about me, Mr. Thornton?" Margaret found herself asking, with an arch tone.   There was an Imp of Mischief that had certainly taken possession of her this night.  This was the only sound explanation for her behavior.    
  
Again, with that rueful, sweet smile that most certainly did _not_ set her pulse racing.  "Only the highest of compliments, Miss Hale and the fact that I'm a ruddy fool."   
  
"Och, don't ye mind him, lass," Bofur interjected - and aside from the ridiculous hat, Margaret certainly could not forget that impish smile and the lilting accent.  "He's been a good companion to the lot of us and a good head for drinking!"  
  
"Did you say John already had his _wedding?_ ”  Oin bellowed and it was Gloin who shushed him and smoothly cleared away what would have been yet another Awkward Moment.    
  
Bifur made some very familiar-looking signs and added a few more words in the Dwarvish tongue for emphasis.  Margaret was given to understand that this was due to the axe buried in his head - a horrifying sight indeed - but Bifur bore it with such amazing indifference that it was easy for everyone else to follow his example.  Somehow, Margaret still understood the compliment he paid her and she dimpled and curtsied to the Dwarf, which made the latter go absolutely pink with pleasure.    
  
And of course, there was Bombur, who kept her plate filled with food, passed her the first slice of Bilbo’s delicious blueberry cheesecake and shooed away potential thieves named Fili and Kili, who graced her with mischievous smiles.    It was rather easy to tell who had been the adorable golden puppy and the equally adorable black puppy.    
  
It was, after all, a very merry gathering indeed.   
  
And then, there was Thorin.   
  
The be-spelled Dwarves had gone to their respective bedrooms when suppertime neared, ostensibly to make sure they would change and not shock the lady present by shifting back naked as the day they were born.  By some magical means, their clothes and things were found safely back in their respective closets in Bag End.  John had been rather relieved to find that they were not stolen and had remarked that this was a bit different from the Previous Cat and Puppy Incident.    
  
According to Bilbo, it really had been a rather sorry business.  Fili and Kili had provoked the Wizard Radagast by “leading his poor hedgehogs astray into some Very Serious Mischief” which had somehow involved annoying the Elven King of Mirkwood.  (“Long-standing grudge, very long story, we’ll be at it _forever_ if I even tried to explain.”)  Thorin had tried to shield his nephews, though he was very Properly Cross with them over the Prank but had gotten caught in the crossfire.    
  
It did end well, of course, but now Radagast was becoming disturbingly fond of that animal transformation spell, if he was now wielding it on unsuspecting and surprisingly “innocent” (“Because we really didn’t do anything this time, Uncle Bilbo!  We and the hedgehogs are behaving ourselves! Honest!”) Dwarves.    
  
So Fili and Kili were now back to their Dwarvish selves and that was all well and good, save for Dwalin raising his eyes heavenwards and proclaiming, “Mahal preserve us.”  
  
And Margaret was rather looking forward to meeting Bilbo’s husband, who seemed to have become a very good friend to Mr. Thornton.  The whole King Under the Mountain business seemed rather unreal to her at this point.    
  
Except that Thorin came out as a full-grown _cat_ , rather than an adorable kitten.  
  
The Dwarves, of course, were rather in a panic.  
  
“Spell’s gone wrong!” Gloin bellowed.  “Confound that Wizard!”  
  
“Uncle Thorin!  Are you all right?” Fili exclaimed.  
  
“You know, he still looks rather majestic, even as a cat,” Kili mused.   
  
They were all effectively silenced by a piercing cat shriek.  The Cat sat back on his haunches, tail curling gracefully around his paws and glared regally at the lot of them.  Kili was right, Margaret thought, caught somewhere between admiration and amusement.  Thorin the Cat was still very majestic.    
  
And then, satisfied that everyone was paying Proper Attention, he padded towards Margaret, gave her a somehow gracious-sounding “Meow” in greeting and then leapt up into Bilbo’s waiting arms.    
  
Bilbo, for his part, regarded his still-feline husband carefully and then sighed.  “As long as you’re quite all right in there.”  
  
There was another “meow” that sounded remarkably reassuring and careful cat paws on Bilbo’s cheeks.  Bilbo ran gentle hands over the lovely-looking soft fur and let Thorin take his place next to him at the table.    
  
And the dinner, of course, continued without further incident.    
  
Margaret learned that Dwarves and Hobbits tended to feast extravagantly, even as she amusedly observed that they were all incorrigible flirts and teases.  While their manners were a bit rough (except for Bilbo, of course), they were all quite kind, reminding her very much of her friend Nicholas Higgins and John Thornton himself.  No wonder he got on so very well with them.   
  
No proper Dwarf and Hobbit Gathering was complete without a song and it was to Margaret’s combined horror and delight (and to Bilbo’s apparently resignation and despair - “Mind my Mother’s china!  That set’s a hundred years old!”) that the Dwarves proceeded to sort out and wash Bilbo’s dirty dinner dishes to a merry tune.  
  
 _Blunt the knives, bend the forks_  
 _Smash the bottles and burn the corks_  
 _Chip the glasses and crack the plates_  
 _That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_  
  
 _Cut the cloth, tread on the fat_  
 _Leave the bones on the bedroom mat_  
 _Pour the milk on the pantry floor_  
 _Splash the wine on every door!_  
  
There may or may not have been a Majestic Cat keeping time with the beat with the rhythmic thumping of his fluffy tail.    Also, managing to slide a plate or two or three in the general direction of Certain Nephews with deft flicks of a white-socked paw.    
  
 _Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl_  
 _Pound them up with a thumping pole_  
 _When you're finished if they are whole_  
 _Send them down the hall to roll_  
  
 _That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_  
  
“What are you waiting for, laddie?” Bofur hollered at Mr. Thornton, taking a break from piping on his flute.  “Ask the lady to dance!”    
  
“If the lady would be so kind?” Mr. Thornton asked her, quite unable to keep the shy smile off his face and it was so very, painfully obvious that he was nervous about his reception.   
  
Heaven have mercy on her - how could she ever say no to him again?  She couldn’t help dimpling up at him and still possessed of that Contrary Imp of Mischief that had taken hold of her, remarked, “I’ll try to keep you from bumping your head on the ceilings, Mr. Thornton.”  
  
Blue eyes sparked with laughter.  “It would be very much appreciated, Miss Hale.”    
  
And so they danced, ducking and laughing and stepping lively all through the hallways of Bag End.   Bilbo ended up dancing with Fili first and then Kili with Feline Approval.  A blushing Dwalin led along a giggling Ori, despite Dori’s loud complaints and Nori’s sharp smiles.    
  
And somehow, in trying to avoid the chandelier that lit up the entrance way to Bag End, Margaret found her hand gently drawing down John.... no, _Mr. Thornton’s_ head, both shielding him and making sure he didn’t bump his head into the upper end of the round doorway to the next room.    
  
It also brought him close enough for a kiss and just for the space of an infinity, she found herself drawing closer.    
  
Oh how she had _wished..._  
  
“Did he propose to her yet?” Oin bellowed suddenly, breaking the moment.    
  
The Dwarves all groaned.    
  
And Margaret, cheeks hot,  mortified beyond belief and breathing rather fast, mumbled her excuses and ran out the door.    
  
***  
  
John Thornton, absolutely flustered and flabbergasted and more than frustrated from that near-kiss than anything else found himself with his fists clenched and staring into the calm, understanding blue eyes of Thorin the Cat.    
  
“Meow.”  
  
“He’s right, you know,” Bilbo broke in gently.  “You’ve made a right muddle of things the first time around, John Thornton.   Now’s your chance to make it right.”  
  
“All this from one ‘meow?’” John said weakly, trying for a laugh and failing miserably.     
  
They had known.  They had all known his sorrow and his heartbreak and he’d spent many a night in their company.  They didn’t let him drown himself too much in drink and self-pity.  Advice and counsel had been given, both welcome and not.  Sometimes it was just the comfort of a listening ear.  Thorin especially had kept him from brooding too much - a feat that had apparently amazed everyone else.    
  
“You’re not the only one who can speak Thorin, remember?” Bilbo chided him.    
  
“She didn’t go far, lad,” Bofur said, peeking out the window.  “She’s only gotten into Bilbo’s garden.  Easier than facing a Dragon.  No threat of incineration, being eaten by Trolls, made into mince-meat by Goblins - “  
  
“Quite.  Thank you very much, Bofur,” Bilbo interjected.  “Now, off with you, John!  Chop-chop!”    
  
There were encouraging murmurs from the other Dwarves and a gruff, “If you make her cry from anything but happiness, laddie, you, me, Grasper and Keeper are going to have a talk” from Dwalin.    
  
Mrs. Hannah Thornton did not raise her son to be a fool.   He obeyed.     
  
***  
  
It must be said, yet again, that John Thornton, despite his remarkable resemblance to one Thorin Oakenshield, had an _excellent_ sense of direction.   But when he saw Margaret - Miss Hale - sitting on Bilbo’s bench, with her face hidden in her hands and a handkerchief clutched between her fingers, he fervently wished he had Thorin’s uncanny ability to make for Bilbo’s garden and somehow end up in Erebor.   
  
(An aside - so maybe that last was an exaggeration of Thorin’s infamous lack of direction.  Considering how John and Margaret ended up in Middle-earth, it was a joke that could not be passed up.)    
  
"Margaret."  And of course, of course, his fool tongue would run away from him and break all propriety by taking liberties with her given name and naturally, his hands apparently now had a will of their own for he was offering his handkerchief.    
  
The small, delicate little hands came down, twisting the ruined handkerchief in her lap.  Her face was pale, except for tell-tale blotches on her nose and her cheeks.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and John still thought her the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.   
  
"Please," he said, offering her his handkerchief again, feeling like the complete idiot that he truly was.  She offered him a wan smile and took the offered linen and dabbed at her eyes, her breath hitching.  
  
He wished he could take her into his arms, press kisses into her hair, whisper words of comfort.  But sometimes, silence was the best thing and so he simply sat beside her, offering wordless support and his company without presuming too much upon her goodwill or so he fervently prayed.  He was not a fancy London gentleman with a courtier’s manners and he never would be but if Margaret Hale would not accept his heart, he would be well content to be her friend.  
  
And then, after a few minutes:   
  
"I’m an utter fool."  
  
"I’m an idiot."   
  
They both started, as they had spoken at the same time, and then, stole shy glances at the other.  Margaret flushed again but looked away first, a faint smile curving her lips.   
  
"You do yourself a disservice, Miss Hale," John said then and greatly daring, he reached out for her hand, gently cradling it in his own as if it were the rarest, most precious gem he’d ever seen.  “If anything, it is I who should consider himself a fool.  My behavior towards you, on that day - it was most churlish and ungallant - I did not even once consider your thoughts on the matter - for that, I am most deeply sorry."  
  
"Oh please - don’t - " Margaret stammered.  “I was the one who was vain and silly and so very, very stupid.  I misjudged you, thought ill of you, when all you’ve ever been to us was kindness itself - even when I gave you no reason to be… and when you saw me, at the train station… I gave you no reason at all to think well of me.  And yet…"  
  
"Don’t," John said shortly.  It was difficult, once more, to rein in the hot flash of jealousy at the memory of that other man that he had once seen in Margaret’s company, the way she had looked at him with love and affection.  It was so very hard to get the words out, but he would speak them and have done.  “Forgive me, Miss Hale - I am used to being forthright and I have no gift for elegant speech.  I have no right to pass judgement on you - I never will.  If he brings you happiness, if he loves you truly, then as presumptuous as it may be on my part - I will only wish you joy.  You needn’t say more."  
  
"I wish to."  
  
That caught him by surprise and he took note of her bowed head, her flushed cheeks and the faint, but still obvious tremble of her lips.  Hope was a funny thing - he could feel the faint stirrings of it but he held himself still, waited for her to speak.   
  
"Isn’t it funny?" Margaret continued softly.  “I wish to tell you and I wish that you would think well of me, always, though I have not been so kind to you in turn."  Tears filled her eyes.  “But I cannot, at least, not yet, for many good reasons but… my dear John, will you believe me if I tell you that it is not what you think it is?  Will you believe and trust in me, though I give you no reason for your faith?"    
  
There was, in fact, only one answer to that.  And hope was no longer faint, but a wild, joyous thing in his heart.  Carefully, he raised her hand to his lips, stole a kiss from delicate fingers.  “You have that and my heart.  You’ve always had them, poor gifts that they are."  
  
Still with that charming flush stealing over her face, she raised her hands to gently caress the line of his jaw, a thumb brushing over his cheek.  “Never, ever poor, my dear John, but the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given."  
  
He found himself smiling.  “That is the second time you’ve called me dear… Margaret. Am I so to you?"  
  
"You have been, I think, for the longest time already.  I am so very sorry that it took me so long to see it."  She smiled back.  “I know how forward it is of me - but you are my dear John, my very dear John, if you will have it so."  
  
And once more, that soft little hand crept up the side of his head and this time, it was not meant to shield him from injury, but it was indeed, an unmistakable encouragement.  It was surprisingly natural and so very right for him to lean close and finally brush a kiss over her lips.  “Never be sorry - my dear Margaret, my very dear Margaret - if you will have it so as well."   
  
And when she offered her lips up to his for a second kiss, he had his answer.  
  
*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** I have my suspicions about Oin, that sneaky sonuvagun. :P 
> 
> **Note the Second:** Why yes, we still have a Magnificent Dwarf Kitty on our hands. We may have a Discussion about that in the next chapter. 
> 
> **Note the Third:** The song, of course, is the famous "Blunt the Knives" song quoted from the movie, which I found on on the Tolkien Wiki. This time, we have Thorin taking part, though still a Kitty. :)


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Romantic Shenanigans Ensue and Shameless Snow White references run amuck.

While Margaret Hale and John Thornton are thoroughly enraptured in love’s young dream, Certain Events of Importance were happening at Bag End.  
  
To wit – Oin won the bet.  
  
For the sake of Bilbo’s sanity, he did not inquire too much into the details of said bet, only that Oin, the sneaky sod, had won it and that it had everything to do with the Interesting Scene taking place in Bilbo’s garden.  Bofur had protested that _he_ was the one who had gotten the couple to dance but everyone finally agreed that it was _Oin_ who had won the whole thing.

Nori had been sensible enough to actually bet on _Oin_ so he was rather smug about the whole business. 

Dwalin apparently won something extra for his remark about Certain Conversations with Grasper and Keeper, which Fili, apparently, was taking note of, when it came to Certain Peculiar Goings-On between Kili and Certain Elves.  It didn’t help that Thorin was evidently pleased with what Dwalin said and was probably making his own notes for future reference.

Threatening potential Elven in-laws could wait.  Bilbo and Thorin needed to have a Conversation.                                

His kitty-fied husband was all too willing to jump into Bilbo’s arms, settling into his embrace with a contented purr. 

“You know, when we started the whole _Thorin is a Giant Werebunny_ thing, we weren’t expecting it to actually _come true?”_   Kili remarked. 

Thorin growled. 

“Well, he’s not a Giant _Rabbit_ , he’s currently a cat and if you’ll excuse me, boys, my husband and I need to discuss his current state,” Bilbo said crisply. 

There was an unhappy mew from Thorin, followed by a forlorn nuzzle under his chin.  “It’s actually not so bad, you know,” Bilbo murmured, which made Thorin’s ears twitch with interest. 

The Dwarves, of course, were all too happy to let King and Consort have their privacy.  Fili and Kili claimed that they already had enough nightmare fuel to last them for a lifetime and scampered out of the way before Thorin could leap at them.  Not that he was actually willing to leave Bilbo’s arms, but it was good to keep the Nephews on their toes. 

Bilbo thought that their bedroom would be a good place to have their Conversation.   Not that this should take too long.  

“You know, the only reason why I knew _not_ to panic?” Bilbo told his husband, who was, in cat form, a very snuggly weight in his arms.  “You were so very calm and very _pleased_ that you were _not_ a cute little kitten anymore.”

There was an apologetic mew and then a hiss at the “cute kitten” remark. 

“Don’t _look_ at me like that – you do make a very cute kitten,” Bilbo chided him.  “Also, despite your best efforts, Your Moggy Majesty – you’re still a very cute cat.”

Big blue eyes blinked at him.    

“You realize that you’re _flirting_ with me right now.  As a cat,” Bilbo pointed out dryly.  “And this is outright adorable.” 

A nuzzle followed, with a low rumbling purr. 

“As entertaining as this is right now, there is one _distinct_ disadvantage,” Bilbo continued, still in that dry tone. 

There was a distinctly inquiring mew. 

“Well, how on earth will I kiss my husband properly and have my wicked way with him if he persists in being a cat?”

It happened very fast.  One minute, it seemed that Bilbo had an armful of Thorin-cat and the next, he was pressed against his door by a very naked, very aroused Dwarf.  And _this time,_ when Bilbo got nuzzled by his husband in his _proper_ form, he tended to find it less amusing and far more _interesting._

He did, however, try to maintain his composure.  It was only fair after all. 

“I can’t believe you somehow managed to _tweak_ Radagast’s spell,” Bilbo said in a surprisingly steady voice.  “Then again, you seem to make a habit of surprising me.”

“It was interesting – once I’d gotten the knack of it,” Thorin murmured in his ear, prior to catching the lobe very, very gently in his teeth.  “I believe you were saying something about having your wicked way?”

Oh no.  Bilbo was not going to be sidetracked.  At least, not yet anyway.  With an effort, he gently pushed Thorin away from whatever was so interesting about his neck and his ears, just far enough so that he could look at him properly, framing his beloved’s face with his hands.  He also tried not to be too distracted by noting how surprisingly soft his husband’s beard tended to be, not to mention how good it felt to sink his fingers into sable hair. 

“You realize, you ridiculous Dwarf, that you don’t need to turn cat to set aside the King, as I know you wish to, at times?  Especially not when you’re with me?” 

A flush stole across Thorin’s cheeks but there was that small, sweet, shy smile, the one that Bilbo had privately considered his favorite.  “I know.  And if I did worry you, beloved, even if only for the briefest moment, forgive me.”

Bilbo kissed him in answer, whimpering a little when clever hands cupped his bottom, bringing him flush against his husband’s still very naked body and things might have gone all downhill from there, especially with the contented rumble from Thorin that resembled a purr, when Bilbo abruptly remembered: “Thorin!  Our guests!”

“Fili will play host.  You’ve taught him well enough that even your Baggins cousins approve.” Thorin pointed out, even as he nibbled at that spot below Bilbo’s jawline, which never failed to make his knees buckle.  “And you did mention wicked ways…”

Oh dear.

With some _encouragement,_ Bilbo found his legs wrapping around his husband’s waist and it wasn’t long until they’d manage to hit their bed.  Thorin did have a point, even as Bilbo was expertly distracted by more delicious, biting kisses that he returned with plenty of interest.  Fili _was_ now skilled enough to play host at Bag End…

***

 

In the course of her visit here to Middle-earth, Margaret had already learned several things.

Fili was an _excellent_ host. 

Going back home would be easily accomplished.   There were what Kili called “doorways” that would only open for the Wizards, John, Margaret and the Company.   There was one, in fact, in Bilbo’s favorite _mathom_ closet.  Margaret and John could easily go back to their respective homes in England and for the people there, it would have been as if they were never gone at all.  It was rather interesting that John, who had already made the journey a few times, would always end up in the specific places where the Company happened to be at the moment and usually Thorin would be in the immediate vicinity. 

And speaking of Thorin Oakenshield, Margaret finally met the King Under the Mountain in his proper shape, accompanied by a blushing Bilbo Baggins.  She tried not to blush herself at the obvious signs that Bilbo was _very_ pleased to have his husband back in his correct form. 

As Bilbo had described, Thorin was indeed _ridiculously_ handsome and in the company of his family and closest friends, absolutely adorable.

Kili mentioned _majestic_ and now Margaret could certainly believe she was in the presence of a Dwarf King. 

And as Bilbo predicted, she was not five minutes in Thorin’s company and her John’s, before she was already mentally praying for Heavenly Strength. 

In fact, she found herself patting Bilbo’s hand in commiseration and said, “I _completely_ understand your predicament now.”

“This is most unfair,” John pretended to complain.  “Already you think to tease me, sweet Margaret?”

“Believe me, I am only trying to even up the odds in Bilbo’s favor, as it were,” Margaret returned pertly. 

“We were already outnumbered even before you joined us, my dear,” Thorin answered wryly, pressing a quick kiss into Bilbo’s palm.  “And now, I think John and I ought to quit the field while we still can.” 

“Impressionable children present!” Kili had complained. 

Breakfast at Bag End had been rather interesting, both for the food and the conversation. 

Had Margaret already noted how good a host Fili had been, in Thorin and Bilbo’s absence?  Yes?  She felt she had to mention it again.  It had been Fili, after all, who had expertly smoothed things over when John and Margaret had returned to Bag End, flushed and happy with the fact that they were now Officially Courting.   The Dwarves had been delighted and there was an hour or two spent in cheerful gossip until it was finally time to retire to their respective bedrooms.  Fili had been careful to steer Margaret and John away from the general direction of the master bedroom, where Thorin and Bilbo apparently were having a Serious Discussion.

Bag End now had two Man-sized guest bedrooms which were very comfortable indeed.  In fact, Margaret had not thought to sleep, not with the good night kiss she and John had managed to steal before he retired to his own room for the night, but sleep she did.  And so it was that she was bright of wit when she first met Bilbo’s husband and _realized_ how much mischief the King Under the Mountain and her John (and oh, how her heart thrilled to call him her own, as much as he felt the same for her) could attract together. 

Heaven help them all indeed. 

After yet another feast for breakfast (truly, these Dwarves and Hobbits loved their food), all of the Dwarves apparently had their respective errands to run – in the Market and at the Green Dragon Inn and all sorts of other places.  The Shire, apparently, with some exceptions such as the Sackville-Bagginses, were very used to their Dwarvish visitors and were very pleased to have the King and his Company doing business there. 

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go!” Bofur sung out cheerfully and ducked as Dori mimed hitting him.

“I _hate_ that song!  Once you start singing it, _everyone_ starts singing it and now I’ll be _hearing_ it in my head the entire day!”

And then, John and Thorin were heard to sing that song, voices blending in beautifully and poor Dori whimpered.  Margaret and Bilbo tried not to laugh too hard.  

It must be said that _nobody_ actually meant to leave Margaret alone at Bag End.  John would not have, but he had previously promised that he would help Thorin, Fili and Kili in something or the other and there was an air of mischief and secrecy about her beloved that told Margaret he was up to something that involved her and that she would look forward to whatever it was he was planning.   Bilbo would not have been such a poor host as to leave Margaret without as so much as a by your leave.

But there was elevenses and there was this particular cake that Thorin loved that Bilbo wanted to make for his husband, to celebrate his return to being a Dwarf, not to mention extra treats for Fili and Kili for their brief ordeal as puppies.  Bilbo had honestly thought that he would not be too long, as he was just going to borrow said ingredients from his cousin Drogo. 

It was the Shire, after all and Margaret was hardly a princess in danger from a wicked and vain Queen.

Nobody really expected _Radagast._

***

**  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** Dun dun dun dun! *cackles evilly* 
> 
> **Note the Second:** I had to up the rating a smidge. For romantic shenanigans. BEAD WHAT HAVE YOUR MUSES DONE TO MINE?!!!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Note:** So maybe I threw in a shameless reference to Narnia. Look, Aslan had to point Margaret in the right direction – Middle-earth’s _thataway._ For the record, my knowledge of the Narnia-verse is firmly rooted in pop culture osmosis and the movies – after learning what happened to Susan, I threw up my hands in exasperation and stuck with Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves. Though yes, I do have a soft spot for a Certain Lion. 
> 
> **Note the Second:** Yes, I am fooling around and stretching the North and South timeline. Margaret’s mother is still alive. While Certain Other Events have already happened, Mr. Thornton’s mill is just beginning to face its troubles, but not so badly that he’s in desperate straits. This is a silly crackfic but maybe there’s going to be a smidge of plot. I think. *gulps*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [An Unexpected Visitor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/917620) by [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead), [darth_stitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch)




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